


in the dark

by busaikko



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Anal Sex, Dark, Darkness, Milking, Oral Sex, Other, Prison Sex, Sounding, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-28
Updated: 2011-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John woke up in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> from a Stargate anon prompt.

John woke up in the dark. He blinked his eyes a lot, trying to make anything out, but the darkness was unrelenting. It reminded him of when his family visited the Linville Caverns and part of the tour involved turning the lights out to give an idea of just how dark darkness could be. Pretty damn dark, was the answer.

John slowed his breathing down and ran his fingers carefully over his eyes. They were still there and nothing hurt. External darkness he could deal with. He checked the rest of his body out. Aside from being naked and a bit cold, nothing seemed to be wrong, so then he checked out his surroundings. There were smooth stone walls and a stone floor about the size of a king bed. He couldn't touch the ceiling. He had to assume that he'd been captured and that this was meant as psychological torture. He hoped his team came to get him soon.

The last thing he remembered was walking through the gate on M3K-663, Rodney a step behind him, Teyla and Ronon to his left. Just like he was going to assume that he wasn't blind, he needed to believe that his team wasn't equally screwed, at least until he figured out how to escape.

He tried climbing the walls. He slid painfully into the floor a lot, and ripped a few fingernails.

He was hungry and thirsty and more than a little pissed off. After a while he curled up on the floor, trying to stay warm, and he must have fallen asleep at some point.

He woke up damn fast when something warm and wet and heavy settled on his chest, forcing his back flat to the floor and pinning his elbows down. He tried bucking it off, biting it, twisting away from the weight and implacable grip, and only succeeded in being dragged a bit across the floor, until his head bumped against another. . . thing.

It smelled fishy, and it slid wet fingers -- no, tentacles -- over his face, using one wrapped around his head to hold him still. John managed to get his hands up and felt slimy skin like rubber.

"Get off me," he said, trying to think the thought as loudly as he could. They might be telepathic squid; what did he know? "I come in peace. But you don't want to meet my friends when they're pissed off, and sliming me? Is not the way to make -- "

A tentacle slid into his mouth and right back to cut off his air, like the worst kind of blowjob, some arrogant asshole who assumed because John was on his knees that they owned his mouth. Except in this case it was pretty much true; John tried biting down hard, and the tentacle just puffed a bit and toughened. Then it pulled back, and John gasped for air, and then it choked him again, and it kept fucking with him until John stopped fighting and let his jaw relax, concentrating on breathing.

Thinner tentacles, or maybe antennae, or hair for all John knew, brushed under John's nose, and then he felt them sliding in. They kept going and going, down the back of his throat and he hoped to God that they were taking the esophagus route and not planning to eat his lungs. That would be a terrible way to die.

John wasn't surprised when he felt tentacles hold his legs apart while one pressed hard against his asshole. Horrified, and sick, and violated, and ashamed, but not surprised. He'd seen hentai cartoons. He knew what was coming.

He'd always kind of rationalized that he was saving his ass-virginity for someone; he had serial crushes, mostly on straight colleagues because he was an idiot, and his jerking-off fantasies usually involved their first time being kind of romantic as well as burningly hot. "It's okay," he'd say, imagining Holland or McKay or Mitchell being careful, his fingers playing the role of their dick breaching him. He usually came imagining being kissed, though.

But now his mouth was stretched around the damn tentacle that was still deep-throating him, and there was nothing gentle about the one that forced itself into his ass. John figured he could endure it but there was no way he was going to enjoy it, and then the tentacle was rubbing up inside him just at the sweet spot and John knew he was going to come from this. There was another tentacle on his dick, and then it was sliding into his dick. John felt his eyes go wide in the dark, as close to a scream as he could manage, and then the tentacles all pulsed together inside him. He was completely helpless, and he came hard. The tentacles stayed put.

And then they started moving again.

John hated having his dick touched after he came, and it was that much worse when he was being touched inside. His muscles were limp from having been clenched so hard for so long, and he didn't know how to fight. Another tentacle pushed into his ass, and another into his dick, and after a while he was hard again from being ridden hard, and then he came again. The tentacle in his mouth expelled some kind of thick nasty fluid that John wouldn't have swallowed if he had a choice. He didn't.

The tentacles pulled out after that, disappearing one by one. John lay on the floor, feeling empty and stunned. After a while he crawled over to a corner and curled up there, telling himself that this was something he wasn't going to think about ever again.

Except that he wasn't hungry or thirsty, and he didn't need to piss, and his throat and ass and dick all hurt.

He didn't have any idea how many hours passed before he felt hungry again. After a while he was _very_ hungry, and then the tentacle creatures returned. He thought they probably just oozed down from the ceiling. He fought a lot harder this time, using his teeth and fingernails to try and rip them apart, but it was like a bad joke. _Where does a 400-pound squid monster sit? Anywhere it damn well pleases._

This time, the tentacles brought John off four times before rewarding him with his stomachful of hideous glop. He figured that he was being drugged, somehow, because he was too old for his body to be reacting the way it was, and also because he really wanted to throw up but he couldn't.

The squid weren't interested in talking; they wanted something from him. John assumed they wanted his ATA genes via sperm, and not his other bodily excretions. That's why they needed him to come so often. The next time he started to feel hungry he made himself think about his favorite porn and jerked off as fast as he could, feeling vindictive satisfaction when come dripped over his fingers to the floor.

The squid seemed a little confused that his dick wasn't an enthusiastic participant in the next round. John was happy about that, or at least as happy as he could be with a fat tentacle sliding in and out of his mouth in time with two more slipping past each other in his ass and the one he hated most of all snug inside his dick.

But they next time he found he couldn't masturbate. His dick didn't even want to think about getting hard until he had a tentacle pressing hard against his prostate, and then he was off again on another horrible round of being fucked, and coming, and being fucked, and coming, again and again. He figured it was drugs, again, especially since the orgasms were the best he'd ever had, bone-shaking pleasure, enough to make him black out a few times.

He had no idea how long his captivity was. Pretty long, he figured, at least a couple of weeks; he knew how fast his hair grew, and he had a piece behind his ear that he'd kept the squid from munching short. Another thing he remembered from the Linville Caverns tour was that after too long in the dark, pretty much everyone goes blind and crazy. When the squid weren't raping him for kicks, he worked at recalling word for word some of the books he'd read, or did complex equations in his head, using his fingers as mnemonics. Sometimes he talked aloud.

One thing he didn't do was give his captors names. He didn't ever want to think of them as sentient or sympathetic. He wanted them dead. He never pretended that they were anyone he knew and actually wanted to fuck.

But still, he started feeling restless with anticipation when the hunger pangs started. When the squid came, he hardly bothered to fight anymore. One brush of tentacle over his lips got him to open his mouth, and his head tipped back automatically to make it easier to swallow the tentacle down. John thought he'd been conditioned, trained like a dog, but he didn't know how he could have done things any different. He spread his legs without needing them to be restrained, and felt his body open to the first of the tentacles that nudged at his ass. His dick started to get hard, and John held it, rubbing a finger over the slit which had been stretched unnaturally and was painful from irritation and friction and abuse.

John was pretty sure that after he got out of here, he was never going to have sex again. Ever.

But now he had tentacles slipping over his fingers, and he held his dick steady as two of them, twined together, pushed into the head of his dick and then down, a traveling bulge he could feel from the outside. He kind of missed the squid which used to pin him down to the floor. There was a big difference between not being able to move and holding still to make things easier for the violators.

John Sheppard did not let his thoughts stray along those lines for long. He closed his eyes on the darkness, and let himself think about Atlantis and going home.


End file.
